In bulk and against all odds
Why today,
when I walk into a theatre I want to leave; even to see people I would love to see? Why is it that when I open a book at random, I can't wait to close it again despite everything in it that might interest me? Why do I suffocate in culture?
I want a body that carries me and legs that walk. I feel like not knowing who you are deep down if it means first having to confront your surface friendliness.
I'm a loose sum who can't stand the sterile ordering of thought. Stop your Hollywood gum or Pleiades, I don't care, you see and yet I don't have a gun to go out and tell you. No bowling, no Columbine.
You're very sweet... but I think you're trying to impose your beliefs on me. Yes, I think I am. But you're very sweet...
TO PREVENT STORIES is DEAD! Instead of aspiring to grow, let's stop taking ourselves for what we cannot be. Let's stop idealizing.
No, there is no such thing as "freedom of expression", just as there are limits on freedom, it's called the law ...
How long will the indignation in its flamboyant expression last, when people start obeying and denying their identity again the very next day?
Writing relieves the tension of over-thinking, stops the bleeding, cauterizes the sense, temporarily closes the still moist wound.
Artists die like so many other endangered species. Their territories are restricted, their voices are discreetly silenced.
Sometimes it's painful... necessarily painful, referential icons. And sometimes in spite of them. All dogma stinks; not all people.
In the theater of degradation... we go to great lengths to chain together beautiful images "in homage to..." At the Generator, we put our strength into the art of creation.
Love is like an enriched ore. In its pure state, it destroys the inner self. To keep it at a distance is not selfishness, quite the contrary.
Even alone, one may not be in tune with one's inner self. We are too afraid that it is a crime. Fortunately there is the mask to help us be.
